Poems
Time is the feather’d thing,And, whilst I praiseThe sparklings of thy looks and call them rays,Takes wing,Leaving behind him as he fliesAn unperceivèd dimness in thine eyes.His minutes, whilst they’re told,Do make us old;And every sand of his fleet glass,Increasing age as it doth pass,Insensibly sows wrinkles thereWhere flowers and roses do appear.Whilst we do speak, our fireDoth into ice expire,Flames turn to frost;And ere we canKnow how our crow turns swan,Or how a silver snowSprings there where jet did grow,Our fading spring is in dull winter lost.Since then the Night hath hurl’dDarkness, Love’s shade,Over its enemy the Day, and madeThe worldJust such a blind and shapeless thingAs ’twas before light did from darkness spring,Let us employ its treasureAnd make shade pleasure:Let’s number out the hours by blisses,And count the minutes by our kisses;Let the heavens new motions feelAnd by our embraces wheel;And whilst we try the wayBy which Love doth conveySoul unto soul,And mingling soMakes them such raptures knowAs makes them entrancèd lieIn mutual ecstasy,Let the harmonious spheres in music roll!
Words in this poem
- insensibly adv.
- In a manner not to be felt or perceived; imperceptibly; gradually.
- fading n.
- An Irish dance; also, the burden of a song.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Poems is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900, Project Gutenberg ebook #66619; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Jasper Mayne, Poems, (1604–1672), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #66619, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/obev-jasper-mayne/time.html, id L16078.
Form and metre
Time is 40 lines in a single stanza. This poem did not settle on a metre of its own; the book it comes from is in iambic trimeter. 90% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 6.8 syllables. 6 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 42% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABBACCDDEEFF-----GG-HIIHJJKK--LLMM-NN--- thingA · praiseB · raysB · wingA · fliesC · eyesC · toldD · oldD · glassE · passE · thereF · appearF · fire · expire · frost · can · swan · snowG · growG · lost · hurl'dH · shadeI · madeI · worldH · thingJ · springJ · treasureK · pleasureK · blisses · kisses · feelL · wheelL · wayM · conveyM · soul · soN · knowN · lie · ecstasy · roll
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Time is the feather’d thing, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And, whilst I praise | 4 | ···· |
| The sparklings of thy looks and call them rays, | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| Takes wing, | 2 | ·· |
| Leaving behind him as he flies | 8 | /˘······ |
| An unperceivèd dimness in thine eyes. | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| His minutes, whilst they’re told, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Do make us old; | 4 | ···· |
| And every sand of his fleet glass, | 9 | ·/˘˘····· |
| Increasing age as it doth pass, | 8 | ˘/˘····· |
| Insensibly sows wrinkles there | 8 | ˘/˘˘·/˘· |
| Where flowers and roses do appear. | 9 | ·/˘·/˘·˘/ |
| Whilst we do speak, our fire | 8 | ····/˘/˘ |
| Doth into ice expire, | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Flames turn to frost; | 4 | ···· |
| And ere we can | 4 | ···· |
| Know how our crow turns swan, | 7 | ··/˘··· |
| Or how a silver snow | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Springs there where jet did grow, | 6 | ······ |
| Our fading spring is in dull winter lost. | 11 | /˘/˘····/˘· |
| Since then the Night hath hurl’d | 6 | ······ |
| Darkness, Love’s shade, | 4 | /˘·· |
| Over its enemy the Day, and made | 10 | ···/˘˘···· |
| The world | 2 | ·· |
| Just such a blind and shapeless thing | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| As ’twas before light did from darkness spring, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Let us employ its treasure | 7 | ··˘/·/˘ |
| And make shade pleasure: | 5 | ···/˘ |
| Let’s number out the hours by blisses, | 10 | ·/˘··/˘·/˘ |
| And count the minutes by our kisses; | 10 | ···/˘·/˘/˘ |
| Let the heavens new motions feel | 8 | ··/˘·/˘· |
| And by our embraces wheel; | 8 | ··/˘˘/˘· |
| And whilst we try the way | 6 | ······ |
| By which Love doth convey | 6 | ····˘/ |
| Soul unto soul, | 4 | ···· |
| And mingling so | 5 | ·/˘˘· |
| Makes them such raptures know | 6 | ···/˘· |
| As makes them entrancèd lie | 6 | ······ |
| In mutual ecstasy, | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘˘ |
| Let the harmonious spheres in music roll! | 11 | ··˘/˘˘··/˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.